Almost Famous
by As SWEET aS candyy
Summary: Take my picture by the pool, 'cause I'm the next big thing. [[CrellieAU]]
1. Welcome to the City

**A/N Alright, I'm not too proud of this first chapter, but I just had to get the story started. I promise it will get better in the next chapter. It's short, I know, and I'm sorry. I'm sure there is a bunch of stories like this already out there, but hopefully might be different. It's a crellie story and as much as I hate to do this, I'm creating my own character for the story. Now, I'm sure you are probably thinking, "hmm this story is going to suck," but if you're patient it will improve. Enjoy and don't forget to review!**

**Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.**

As I closed my suitcase, I wasn't sure I was doing the right thing. I wanted to be a rock journalist. I wasn't going to pursue that career to the furthest in Canada. I needed to get away to somewhere I could; somewhere like New York.

At 4,000 feet above the air in seat 32C, I was almost positive that moving to Soho was the best move for me. But at 4,000 feet, it's not like I could change my mind.

Sitting in my Soho efficiency that smelled like cat urine, I knew I belonged here. This was my city. It was fast and chaotic and so _me_.

I walked over to my iBook sitting on the antique coffee table and opened my Yahoo! account to check my email. I had six new emails from Marco to make sure I was safe and that some rapist hadn't jumped out of the bushes and attacked me and another from Jan Wenner, the editor of Rolling Stone magazine, to remind me of our interview tomorrow at 10:00. I logged off of my account and walked over to the window by the couch.

I perched my elbows on the window sill and looked down on the hundreds of people walking down the streets: mothers with fussy toddlers, taxi cabs being hailed over by twenty-something women heading to the newest fusion restaurants, and businessmen practically screaming into their Blackberries. And looking down on all the women and men and teenagers and elders, I felt strangely lonesome. It had finally occurred to me I had nobody in this huge city: my only company coming was from unpacked boxes and the couple in the efficiency next door arguing. I had only been in New York a few hours, but I was already homesick.

I wanted to go back home. I wanted to have all my clothing on hangers in my closet and my books on their shelf instead of in boxes. I wanted to be getting dressed to go out to the Thai restaurant near my old apartment with Marco and Dylan. I missed being with Jesse and cuddling with him on his suede couch at his place. I missed the calendar I hid under my bed, counting the days until Craig came back home from rehab.

Hell, I missed him.

And right now, it was even more apparent about why I left Toronto. It had nothing to do with my career; who was I kidding? There were tons of great bands in Canada and great magazines and newspapers I could write for. It had to do with him; Craig.

He had been on my mind ever since he left for rehab. I had wondered on a daily basis about how he was doing and if he meant what he said, and if he ever thought about me. It was obvious that I was unhappy with Jesse; everyone around us knew that, except maybe Jesse. I didn't have the heart to break up with him because I had feelings for a guy who didn't have them back (or did he?).

So, New York was my excuse; my excuse to break up with Jesse, my excuse to shutting the door on everything I didn't want to remember.

_"Jesus, Ellie," _I yelled at myself in my head. _"Stop thinking about Jesse and Craig and Toronto!"_

And, God, could this place be anymore quieter!

I abruptly pull open the window to fill the silence and to get me out of my head. I listened to everybody else's problems; about how that report was supposed to be on his desk yesterday, and how the lady just wanted her daughter to stop pulling on her dress, and how the sluttish women just needed a taxi.

It was so peaceful to me. In Toronto, the only noise would be crickets chirping at this hour; but here there would always be noise. This was what I needed most right now.

This is why New York was the right fit for me; whenever I needed an escape all I had to do was open the window. I hated the quiet; it was always too ominous and it always made it feel like something bad was going to happen. When I was younger, right before my father would phone from overseas; it always seemed to get quiet. No matter what was going on; whether my mother was vomiting in the other room, or I was arguing with her, or a construction worker was jack hammering the street or sidewalk-- it would just instantly become dead silent.

I laid my head on the sill for what I thought was a minute or two before my cell phone went off.

It was Jesse, of course.

I hit the ignore button and let it go straight to voice mail. I glanced over at the clock; it was only 10:00, yet New York looked like it was only 6:00.

I looked into the dirty window across from me. There was a boy with dark curly hair strumming on an acoustic guitar. I could of sworn it was him, until he stood up and perched his guitar against the window. He was significantly more buff than Craig and wasn't as tall. He gave me friendly smile from across the way. I just closed the curtain I had for the window.

The last person I wanted to see tonight was a look-a-like of the guy I was trying to get away from.


	2. Sex on the Beach

**A/N I'm definitely prouder of this chapter, although it starts out pretty slow. Um, I apologize for any grammar mistakes in advance. So enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: It belongs to Degrassi. Except John...he's mine. And 46 Grand is a club in Soho.**

It was seven in the morning when I woke up the next day. The first golden morning rays were shining through the old drapery on the window. I pulled the ancient afghan off my body, as I rose from the couch, stretching out my arms. I walked over to the window on the frigid wood and pulled open the curtain. The sky was a beautiful yellow-orange, with faint blues peeking out between the yellows and oranges.

The streets of New York were quiet; only a few men in designer suits walking down the streets, with non-fat, soy milk lattes up heading to work. It amazed me that the city could be so quiet, even at this hour. I had to think those sluttish women had to be getting back to their apartments now after one-night stands, with nasty hangovers. And as much as I hated the quiet, it was nice this morning; it felt like home to me.

I looked across the way into the window to see if the Craig Manning look-a-like was up yet. He was and he had been staring at me, sipping a cup of coffee from his window. He gave me that same friendly smile from yesterday night. And much like yesterday night, I just closed the drapery.

The main thing I was trying to get away from was staring me right in the face. My liking for New York was starting to decrease.

I walked over the refrigerator and looked inside for something to eat; there was Fish Food Ice Cream and a half gallon of milk. It wasn't the best thing to eat for breakfast, but it would do. I opened the ice cream container and poured about a half cup of milk in. I glanced into one of the boxes labeled "kitchen" and looked for a spoon.

I leaned against the fridge as I enjoyed my "breakfast of champions" when there was a knock at the door. I set down my ice cream and hurried over to the door. When I opened the door, I was more than surprised to see the Craig Manning Look-a-Like standing there, with two Christmas mugs, equally filled with black coffee. "Hey, I'm John, from across the way,"

I didn't answer at first, but when he cocked his eyebrow, I figured he was waiting to hear my name. "Sorry," I said, placing my hand on my forehead. "I'm Ellie. I just moved in,"

"Well, Ellie, I thought I'd bring over coffee as my way as introducing you to the building," He said, handing over a mug.

"Thanks. That's sweet of you. Well, bye," I said about to the close the door.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?"

No, I wasn't going to. "Oh, yeah, sorry, again," I apologized.

"It's cool. I have to say, Ellie, I'm a big fan of your ensemble," He said smirking, before taking a sip of his coffee.

I looked down at my barely clothed body. I was wearing a red wife-beater tank top and a pair of boy-short underwear. My cheeks turned the same color as my shirt and I gave an uncomfortable chuckle. I quickly grabbed the skinny jeans I had thrown in the corner with the blood stain from when I cut my hand with the box cutter.

"Aw, I liked it the other way," John said with a laugh.

I was a bit appalled and bit uncomfortable that this guy (pervert) who I had known for, I don't know, two seconds, had just said that. But I was also a bit flattered that he had, because I had never been spoken to that way before. It made me feel me Gisele Bündchen-ish, womanly, sexy, another synonym for damn hot.

I figured this was how they did it in New York and I knew I could get used to this.

"Um, so what do you do?" I asked, trying to change the subject from my panties to something a bit more conversational.

"I'm a musician, or aspiring anyway,"

"That's cool. My friend is-was a musician. He sort of retired,"

Well, actually threw away his entire career, but that's another story that you wouldn't necessarily tell someone you barely know.

"What do you do?"

"I'm a writer. I have an interview with Rolling Stone magazine today at ten,"

"So, I guess I should start kissing your ass now, huh?"

0.o

John was an ass.

Probably the biggest I had ever met.

But he was also my 9:30 tonight.

Behind his cockiness and ego bigger than J.Lo's ass, he was interesting and fun to talk to. John had chocolate brown hair and dark green eyes. He was pretty tall, probably 5'10 at the most and was obviously fit, because you could see his pecks under his fitted vintage band tee shirt. He wasn't my typical guy, but I figured: New city. New guy. New me.

It was 8:15 when he left. I quickly hopped in the shower and blow dried my hair.

Before leaving my apartment, I made sure I had pants on.

0.o

"So, what kind of experience do you have?" Jan Wenner asked me.

"Well, um, I worked with Caitlin Ryan during high school as a co-op and I wrote for The Core in college."

"Uh-huh," She was clearly unimpressed with me. "And you went to school in Texas at U of T, correct?"

"Actually, University of Toronto."

She just nodded. "Alright, I'll call you if you have the job," She added, before tossing my resume into the trash can.

"Look, Ms. Wenner, I know I don't have much experience. There are people here who have been writing all their life, who have been a part of Time magazine and The Boston Globe, who went to Colombia and NYU, but being a journalist is my life. I would love to be a part of the Rolling Stone team. I'll go on coffee runs and pick up dry cleaning, anything, just to work with you. Please, just give me a chance."

"Alright, Ellie, I'll give you a shot. This is kind of my test run with you. I'm giving you an assignment. Now, this doesn't mean you have the job, this is just kind of your test to see if you're any good." She put on her glasses and looked through the list of assignments nobody wanted.

I smiled to myself. I couldn't believe it! I sort of had a job with Rolling Stone!

She handed me a post-it note with two phone numbers on it and the name Russell May. "You call him tonight and say you're a writer for Rolling Stone and schedule a meeting with his client. I want the interview on my desk by next week at this team. Welcome to Rolling Stone. Well, sort of." She reached into the garbage can, pulled out my resume, and smoothed out the wrinkles. Jan shook my hand, before I left. "Ellie, this is a big deal. Do not take this lightly."

"You won't be disappointed, Ms. Wenner."

"I better not be,"

0.o

I kicked off my Converse and tossed my keys on the counter top. I pulled the note out my bag and my cell phone and dialed Russell May's number. "Hello, Mr. May! This is Eleanor Nash, with Rolling Stone; I'm calling to schedule an interview with your client."

"Sorry, we don't do interviews." Then he hung up.

I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at the flashing "call ended" message flashing. How dare him! I was a sort of employee with Rolling Stone! I pushed the redial button. "Hello, Mr. May. This is Eleanor Nash again. I'm assuming you lost service and that's why our call was ended," I said bitterly.

"I'm sorry, Eleanor, but we don't deal with Rolling Stone. You guys twist the truth and make musicians look like ass holes. I'm sorry, kid, but no."

"Mr. May, I assure you, that your client's story will not be changed to be in a better light or worse light."

"I'm sorry, Eleanor, but no." He was about to hang up. I wasn't going to lose my place at Rolling Stone magazine, because of this dick.

So, I turned on the sob story. "It's just that- that- my-my- boss is going to fire me if I don-don-don't have this interview," I managed to get out between fake sobs. "I just moved here with my two kids, Danny's nine and little Ally's four, and I promised them new shoes. And if I don't have th-this I'm going to lose my job." I added a sniffle for authenticity. "But, if you don-don't d-d-do interviews, I guess that's o-o-okay. Good bye-"

"Wait, Eleanor, let me just ask him. Yo-" He covered the mouthpiece, while he yelled to his client. There was some brief arguing before he returned to the conversation. "We'll do the interview."

"Oh, thank you, sir!" I never knew how good of an actress I was. Maybe I should have had a theatre major. "You don't know how much this means to me. What time would you like to schedule this?"

We decided on the Starbucks on the corner of 2nd avenue and 9th street, at 3:30. Granted, I didn't know who I was interviewing, but I figured I'd be able to figure it out by the dark sunglasses and the paparazzi following them.

0.o

I arrived at 46 Grand at 9:45 for my date with John. I used a tip from Paige to not show up right on time: Be at least twenty minutes late. Be unattainable. That's sexy. Punctuality is not.

I was only fifteen minutes late for our date, but I thought it would be silly for me to wait outside for five more minutes. "Whoa," He greeted from his seat at the bar. "It's not as hot as this morning's outfit, but it'll do." He added, before giving me a big hug.

"You're never going to let me forget about that, huh?"

"I might stop since this little number." He said, checking out my outfit one more time. I was wearing a satin blue halter top, with a black mini skirt, and a pair of black pumps, so I'd be closer to his height and not my normal midget-self. I had a pair of chandelier earrings on and a diamond bracelet on my left wrist. I had curled my hair and put it in a pouf and I had silver eye shadow and black eyeliner on.

"Good," I said, trying to sound as sexy as I could.

"What's your drink, Ellie?"

"Sex on the beach."

"I want to have that too, but what are you drinking?"

I playfully punched his perfectly toned arm and gave him my winning smile.

0.o

We had talked for a bit, enjoyed a few cocktails before he leaned in, and whispered that dreaded question: "Do you want to dance?"

I have never been much of a dancer. Whether it was dances or house parties, I always tried to blend in with the wall, to avoid being asked to dance. Marco would always ask me to and if I said 'no,' he'd grab my hand and take me out to the dance floor. He'd move his hips, lip synch along to the song that was playing, and make an ass out of himself. I'd stand there, with my hands on my hips, shaking my head and laughing at my friend. I could only handle the stupidity for so long, so I'd retreat to my cozy spot on the wall. Marco would sigh as he watched me stand in the corner and I'd raise my eyebrows in a whatcanyoudo way. "Oh, I don't really-"

I had a brief flashback of Dylan's going-away party, where Jesse and I argued over the fact that I didn't want to dance and eventually broke up. Jesse then went after Paige; the blonde haired, green-eyed beauty, who loved to dance. I then remembered my new life tag line: New city. New guy. New Me.

And the new me loved to dance. I watched the girls out there with there mini skirts shorter than mine and high heels higher than mine, swaying their hips back and forth with the beat, the electronic rhythm pulsing through their bodies.

I then realized that I needed to be one of those girls; those girls who could go out and dance, while everyone watched them. "I'd love to, John." He took my hand in his and led us the dance floor.

Once I started moving, I realized how easy dancing was and how comfortable I was moving my body. I shook my hips and let my arms rise on their own. I just let my body absorb itself into the music and just let loose and let my body do what it wanted to. I turned my body away from John and let our bodies rub against each other. We danced like that for a minute or two, before he turned me around and stared straight into my eyes. He pulled me closer and to let our hip bones and upper thighs rub against each other rhythmically.

John leaned his head in closer. I knew he wanted a kiss. And maybe I did too. It seemed somewhat fast, but maybe sexy dancing causes time to move at a faster speed. I leaned my head in too and let our lips touch. At first, they were barely touching; borderline actual kiss, but eventually we both pressed them harder to each other. I should have known that his perfect, pouty lips would feel this good against mine. I moved my hands to his cheeks and he placed his hands just shy of my butt. Are tongues briefly touched, before I pulled away. "Do you want to get out of here?" I whispered into his ear, in a sexy, audible voice. He nodded.

It wasn't until we got in a cab that I realized that John probably thought he was going to be fucked tonight. My idea was confirmed when he leaned to continue our kiss. I tuned my head to look out the window. "That club was great. The drinks are a little pricey, but still co-cool." I said stammering.

I perched my elbow on the window ledge and placed my chin in my palm. I then remembered another rule from The Book of Paige Michaelchuck: "You owe him nothing until you let him feel your boobs."

Alright, I was still in the clear.

It was a while before either of us said anything. "So, how did your interview go today?"

"It went alright. Jan Wenner said that I might have a job depending on this article I write."

"Cool." He nodded, smiling. "Do you think maybe, I don't know, maybe you could get me an inter-"

"Seriously?" He looked a little dumbstruck. "I'm not even an employee yet and you're already trying to use me, so you can be featured in an issue? God, I've should of known better." I crossed my arms and shook my head in disgust.

"Look, Ellie, I'm sorry, but-"

"There's going to be two stops, driver."


	3. Coffee Cakes

**A/N I'm super duper sorry!!! I've been so busy with school and all the stuff I did manage to write was pure shit. Many chapters are to come still..just stay with me!**

Fifty seven years ago, when the first report stating that smoking cigarettes caused cancer was released, Velcro was introduced, and NASA was founded, things were different. Girls wore skirts that hit their knee and fresh pressed blouses. They were ladylike in their flat shoes and their mother's pearl necklace. Men were an officer and a gentleman and never took advantage of a woman. They might get a kiss on the cheek at the end of a date depending on how it went, and if they were lucky, like really, really lucky, a kiss on the mouth.

Now-a-days, people still smoke, no one uses Velcro, and most teens today don't know what NASA is. Girls wear short skirts and midriff baring shirts. They kill their feet in four inch heels and wear $200 Tiffany necklaces. They dance like whores and kiss guys they barely know. Men sometimes don't shower before a date and expect to get laid after the first date. They don't call you and don't plan on ever seeing you again. And if you're really unlucky men (and occasionally some women) will use you and if you're really stupid you'll let them.

"Who the fuck does he think he is?!" I yell, as I slam the door to my apartment and throw my keys on the floor.

I take a deep breath and try to be rational. "Come on, Ellie, you didn't actually think he liked you?" I ask myself.

It's been a rough night, so I change into a pair of comfy pajamas and settle myself on the couch with my laptop. I scroll through my emails, deleting the emails asking me if I need natural male enhancement and informing me of sales at unknown stores. I reply to Marco's ten thousand emails asking if I'm alright. I tell him that I'm fine, but I'm not sure if I like New York all that much. I look through the rest of my emails and a particular one catches my eye. I'm not sure who the sender is, but the subject box says "I'm Sorry." I open it out of curiosity, and see that it's from none other than Craig Manning. I close the screen. I was tempted to delete. I didn't want to hear his apology. I came to New York for a reason; that reason being him.

But a part of me didn't want to delete it. It wanted to see what he had to say. It wanted to know why he would take time from his day to email me.

I stared at my computer, waiting for an answer on whether or not to read his email to pop out of thin air.

Finally tired of waiting for an answer, I place the computer on the coffee table and lay down on the couch. I figure nothing is going to get solved at 1:30 in the morning, so I pull a blanket over my body and close my eyes, trying not to think about anything. Especially anyone.

0.o

It's 12:45 in the afternoon when I wake up the next day. My head hurts like hell and my feet have fresh blisters on them. I lazily pull myself off the couch and walk to the kitchen to pour myself a cup of coffee. Fuck, I whisper to myself, realizing that I had forgotten to buy coffee to make. I hit my head with my palm, asking myself how I could have forgotten to buy coffee. I slip on my black pea coat and a pair of oversize sunglasses to walk to the nearby Starbucks.

I stop by my mail cubby to see if I had gotten any mail. I didn't find out because there was big orange sticky note on my box from John asking me to join him for breakfast. I crumble the paper in my fist and roll my eyes. He didn't think I actually forgave him? I turn the corner to leave the building when I run into John, causing him to drop all of newspapers he had bought from the news stand down the street. "It's just the girl I wanted to see," I start to walk away, but he blocks my exit by side stepping to the right, so I can't leave. "Did you get my note?"

"Yeah," I say crossing my arms.

"Well, it's almost lunchtime, so instead of breakfast do you maybe want to grab a burger at this diner?"

"Why would I?"

"I don't know, we had a fun time last night?"

"So you think you can buy me a cheap hamburger and I'll forgive you? Do you really think this makes everything alright?"

"Make what alright?"

"Ugh...you're such an idiot," I roll my eyes one more time. "I have an interview today. With a _real _musician, one who doesn't have to date a journalist to get an interview with Rolling Stone." I walk away from him and his pathetic ass.

Who needs him and his shit?

Not Ellie Nash.

0.o

I step into Starbucks and all eyes fall on me; the girl with the dirty red hair and flannel pajama bottoms. I don't get what the big deal is? The Olsen twins dress like this when they go to gala events!

I walk up to the counter and a teenage guy turns around. He looks at my outfit and looks at the other twenty-something women in their pencil skirts and Jimmy Choo stilettos and I never realized Starbucks had a dress code. He smile and I feel strangely uncomfortable. "What can I get you?"

"Just a grande coffee,"

He grabs a paper coffee cup and scribbles random letters on it and passes it on to his female coworker about to fall asleep. I dig my hand inside my coat pocket looking for $2.50 to pay for my drink. "It looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Or possibly right; did you get laid or something?"

"What are you? Fourteen? Don't you say stuff like first base and what not?" I place the money on the counter and glare at him.

He laughs a little. "I'm twenty five actually. I'm just working here on the side," He takes the cup from his lackadaisical coworker. "I just thought a pretty girl like you would have guys all over her,"

He looks right into my eyes with his own piercing blue and I melt, just like I did looking into a certain pair of hazel one's in high school. I try to act nonchalant, like the fact that he called me pretty even though my eyeliner was smudged and I was wearing plaid flannel pajama bottoms. I'm kind of sick of this whole getting hit on every three seconds. "Thanks for the coffee..." I glance at his name tag. "Heath,"

"Hey, um, I know this is kind of weird, but do you want to maybe get together sometime?"

"What makes you think I'm interested?"

"Oh, you're interested," He smiles and I melt again.

Rolling my eyes, I turn away from the counter and walk out the door.

I swear I can hear the bells from when he asked me out.

But of course, that could just be the bells on the door, there to alert the workers of a new client.

0.o

I head back to the Starbucks I was at this morning for my interview with my mystery musician.

Heath is cleaning a table when I walk in. "You're back! And in clothing that isn't pajamas" He greets, sounding truly enthusiastic to see me. "I knew you were interested," He says, with a small laugh.

"No, Romeo, I have an interview with somebody, that's all,"

"Sure, that's what they all say. What can I get you?"

0.o

I start tapping my fingers on the tiled table at Starbucks. I glance at my watch and see its 4:15. I figured this was just typical rock star behavior.

Ten minutes later, there's still no sign of him. I'm hoping that he's just stuck in traffic.

Thirty more minutes pass and I'm afraid I might have to tell my fake kids that they aren't getting new shoes.

It's 5:10 when a guy with dark black sunglasses walks in. I gesture him my way and he takes a seat across from me at the table. "Sorry, I'm late," He says quickly, without looking my way.

"Oh, it's alright," I say, trying to hide my aggravation.

He takes off the sunglasses shielding his face and I nearly choke on my iced chai tea latte.

"Craig?!"

"Ellie!"

I'm completely dumbstruck.

He's sitting across from me.

He's out of rehab and sitting across from me.

He flew all the way from Calgary and he's sitting right across from me.

I shake my head. This can't be happening. He's a drug addict, who I never wanted to see again, that I wanted to scream and punch for everything he did, and yet I'm speechless at his presence.

"So, how have you been?" He asks with a huge grin plastered on his face. "I heard you had two kids,"

I blink. No. He can't be here. He. Just. Can't. Be.

I pinch on myself on the arm. I have to be dreaming. I'll wake up any many minute now, to see that I have no coffee.

I'm not. Fuck. "Uh, no, no. Why are y-y-you here?"

"Um, we had an interview," And I can tell he's uncomfortable.

"No, but you're supposed to be in rehab,"

"I was released. I've been out for awhile. Didn't you get my email?"

And, God, I really wish I hadn't been so indecisive about reading that email.

"Yeah. I just didn't read it yet,"

"Oh, well, just to sum it up, um, I'm recording again," He said. "Drug-free."

"Good,"

It's been an hour of laughing and talking and getting very little work over lattes and coffee cakes. I had forgotten how much fun I had with him and how easy it was to relate with him.

All these feelings that I had tried to suppress since Craig left for rehab were now bubbling to surface and I started to realize how much I cared about him even after he hurt me. I always told myself I wouldn't care if he got hit by a bus, but I knew if he had, I would be the one putting fresh flowers on his grave everyday. I tried to convince myself that I was glad that his drug addiction was publicized after the gig with Taking Back Sunday and he got what he had coming. A part of me knew that everything that had happened on that faithful night was deserved, but the other part knew how much performing meant to him and how big of a part music had in his life. "You know, Ellie, I really missed you," Craig says somewhat randomly.

And I look at him and I melt at his almost invisible smile. It's truly genuine. But I also remembered how genuine he sounded when he told me he loved me. "Alright. Next question," And he gives me a confused look. " Do you have to be depressed to write a sad song? Do you have to be in love to write a love song? Is a song better when it really happened to you?"

"Wow! When did this get all professional?"

And I gave him a look. The look I had given him throughout our entire friendship when he was being an ass and I needed him to try to act his age.

He laughed. I knew he got what I was saying with my look. "I know I wrote a lot of songs about a girl, who I loved, when I left,"

The air leaves me. I might cry, I might scream, I might dance; I'm at a complete lost. I grab my bag off the floor by my feet. "Wow! Look at the time," I manage to get out, trying to hold back tears.

"Elle,"

"I really need to go,"

_Fin._


End file.
